


Taken

by thenotsopolitecanadian



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Ed is in this for maybe five seconds, F/F, F/M, Gen, I'm mainly just using their appearance and vague personality, Language, M/M, Painter!Zayn, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Potential (read: very likely) graphic whipping/punishment scenes, Servant!Niall, Sorceresses, They're middle ages and slavery but internet is somehow a thing, everyone needs to learn to talk about their freaking feelings, prince!harry, servant!Liam, servant!louis, this is basically me world building and messing around, unexplained plot devices
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 08:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1381018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenotsopolitecanadian/pseuds/thenotsopolitecanadian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is a prince who needs to learn to deal with his freaking feelings because Eilonwy is tired of cleaning up after him, Louis is an emotionally unstable servant who just wants to go home (but may have found a reason to stay), Zayn should drop the tortured artist persona and maybe Niall's life isn't so bad now, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taken

**Author's Note:**

> Elenya (Ellie/El) is based of Eleanor Calder VERY vaguely (mostly just appearance) and I changed her name. She does not have much to do with Louis beyond really close friendship.

“El-lie. El-lie.” The sorceress’ singsong voice drifts through El’s fog of sleep along with the hated name only she uses. “Wake up Ellie, we have work to do.” The signsong tone is gone but the voice is still light and playful. Covers are yanked off her body and El curls up into a ball at the early-morning cold. Someone opens her shutters and curtains and she pulls a pillow over her head. 

 

“Mmph, go away,” she groans. Cold hands touch her back through her thin nightgown and El flinches. 

 

“We can’t, El, the new arrivals will be here in an hour and we have to inspect them. You can’t do that in your nightdress.” Bri’s voice is there too, and her words make El’s eyes fly open. She sits up quickly. 

 

“Fuck!” It’s not lady-like to swear and she knows she must be in quite a state but she doesn’t care. The other two girls smile at her. 

 

“You forgot, did you?” Lyn teases with a mischevious smile, and El glares at her. 

 

“Yes, I did.” She swings her legs out of bed and goes to her closet- WHERE is her attendant? She remembers that the girl who was never really hers in the first place had gone home with a fever the day before. El’s friends follow her. 

 

“Hey, don’t snap at us,” Bri says. “We’re the reason you’re up in time at all.” El flips through her gowns and underclothes frantically. 

 

“An hour is NOT enough time to get ready,” she says forecfully as she chooses an outfit in palace colors, undergarments, and a hair piece. She bustles through the other women. “Are you just going to stand there?” She demands as she slips on underwear and begins to pull her nightdress over her head. Lyn cocks an eyebrow. 

 

“Are you capable of doing up your gown by yourself?” Good point. El pulls on a chest piece and slips into her corset. Bri goes behind her to tie the laces because Lyn is worse than useless at such things and when she uses magic her not-entirely-controlled powers lace it FAR too tight. Bri laces her quickly and steps away, and El’s dress comes levitating toward her, floating, and the perfect position for her to step inside and slip her arms in. It’s even warm, like it’s just come from the press.

 

“Thank you, Lyn.” Magic isn’t always bad, El supposes. She steps into the deep green material and Lyn holds the edges together as Bri does it up, her soft murmurs the only sound audible over the slip of silk. El adjusts the gold-embroidered sleeves and goes to her mirror, grabbing her hair brush. It seems her hair, usually an unruly mass of dark waves, wants to behave today. She brushes it out quickly, ties it back, and slaps on some makeup. Taking a toothpaste tablet and sucking to clean her mouth, she puts on the locket and ring that show her rank, arranges her skirt, and casts a critical eye over her friends. 

 

Bri too wears a gown in green and gold, cut a little differently and with emboridery on the skirt instead of the sleeves. Brown leather boots add to her already impressive height, and her hair has been braided before pulled into a tight bun, sharpening her features. Her usually warm, open face has been carefully shadowed with makeup and has a cold, distant expression. She holds herself very upright, looking haughty and elegant and distant, cold in a way she never is, but that is needed.

 

Lyn instead exudes raw power- her robes, embroidered with runes and symbols and countless other magical and alchemical signs, swirls around her feet, moving slightly in a breeze only she can feel, and her dark cloak looks a little like wings when she turns and it flares. The runes on her face and neck heighten the snap of her eyes, one green and one blue, and her usually sharp, slanted cheekbones are sharpened still. Her hair is loose around her, lifting gently in that ethreal breeze, and her pointed ears stick out, the piercings catching the sunlight. Her hands are clasped at her waist where they come out of her sleeves, and her heavy bangles and runes are visible. When she smiles a predatory, cold smile, so unlike her usual ones, the points of her sharpened canines flash white and catch on her lip. An electrified crackle surrounds her, and it is clear what part she will play today. Like always, her feet are bare, but anklets and yet more markings show it is not a gesture of humility. El nods, satisifed, and claps. “Let’s go.” The other two smile, genuine this time, and flank her as they head down to the entrance hall and the small room just off it where their potential new workmates are waiting. 

 

_The waiting is always the worst part. Louis has done this three times now, and it’s always the waiting. He shivers in the cold, and goosebumps break out on his naked flesh. His thighs burn from the strain of holding this pose for so long and his back and neck ache, but he doesn’t dare lift his head or settle, just keeps his hands clasped behind his back and grits his teeth. Beside him, he can hear the blonde whose name he doesn’t know shuffle. On his other side, the redhead is breathing deep and even, apparently even better at this than Louis is. He can hear a slight crack and hiss from the skinny boy’s other side and wants to tell the boy he thinks is a brunette to stop, but he doesn’t risk speaking. It’s no skin off his back._

 

_The door opens, and footsteps clack on the marble, but Louis doesn’t dare look up. They go to Blondie first. Footsteps go in a circle, and there’s soft whispers. Louis can envision what’s happening, the way they will examine the boy from all sides like he’s a prize animal, taking in flaws and benefits, where he’s strong and where he’s weak, any scars or deformities. Silk rustles as someone bends down and he imagines they must be taking the boy’s hands, rubbing the fingers and looking at the palms and under the nails. The silk rustles again._

 

_They’ll do the boy’s face and neck next, turning his head from side to side, checking his teeth and nose and ears and looking in the eyes for a hint of spirit or personality that they would need to break out of him or that they could use. “Open.” A voice- feminine, interesting- orders, and Blondie gags a little. They must be pressing on his tongue._

 

_“What do you think?” Another female voice, lower and more powerful than the other. It has a strange undercurrent to it._

 

_“I don’t like him. He seems a bit wild and arrogant.” The third voice is also a woman, but with an accent from the South. Louis’ gut clenches in fear at the words for the other boy, even though he doesn’t know him. Such a pronouncement often has dire consequences, like breaking, or low tasks, or, heaven forbid, being sent back. That’s never happened to him, but Louis has heard horror stories of what their captors will do if they are refused. The first voice speaks again._

 

_“It can be broken out, I think.” He feels a spark of hope and thanks. Breaking is not pleasant, but it’s probably better than what the Raiders will do. Louis fights the urge to shiver as he remembers his own breaking._

 

_“You are too nice, cara. You think too much of everyone.” The powerful voice is back and slightly reprimanding, slightly exasperated like they’ve had this discussion before._

 

_“What shall we do?”_

 

_“Let’s see the others first, then we’ll decide.” That’s not a bad sign, as it’s not an immediate no, but it isn’t good either. They don’t let Blondie rise, and that in itself would be worrying. The feet move to Louis and he can see brown boots, black boots, and bare feet peeking out of palace green._

 

_The bare feet are tattooed, and Louis forces himself to be calm despite a sudden panic- a sorceress. She must be the powerful voice, and he has an idea what the undercurrent is. Sorceresses are serious business, and if he has to work under one...well, he’ll have to be far more careful with his sharp tongue. The sting of a whip would not be the worst consequence here._

 

_The feet begin to walk in a slow circle and he knows what they see- tanned skin over a curvy, wiry-strong frame, the black lines of tattoos and the white of scars, some from breaking and some from his capture and some from a master, and finally an ass that’s pretty nice, if he says so himself. Yeah, he’s fairly attractive, and people have told him so. He forces the though from his mind lest he recieve the same verdict as poor Blondie over there and droops a little like he’s ashamed. He knows they will know what the scars mean._

 

_The feet come full circle and stop again- a hand takes his wrist, soft and slender and elegant but with callused fingers, and pulls it to the front. He gives them both limbs flat and loose, feels them pull the nails closer and rub the palms, judging strength and dexterity. The hands fall to his side and he clasps them back again, heart suddenly racing at what has to come next._

 

_A slender finger catches his chin and pulls it upwards so he has to look his examiner in the eye; he looks away, a submissive gesture, but a risky one, for she could take it as disgust. The glimpse he sees is of a pretty woman, dark hair pulled sharply back, eyes a soft chocolate brown. Her nose is straight and small, her mouth a delicate pink rosebud. It is a kind and open face, pretty too, but this could easily be the Southerner, for beauty does not always equal kindness. In any case, this woman holds his life in her hands. “Look at me.” He almost sighs in relief at the command, for her voice is soft- she is the kind one, the one who tried to stand up for Blondie. He refuses to move and flicks his eyes to her pink, pink mouth before meeting her chocolate orbs._

 

_She searches his own grey ones intensely, as if she can see straight through to his soul, and he makes himself calm and complacent, hoping his eyes don’t give his inner self away. He lets a little fear bleed through, because they always like that, and pink lips curve into a graceful smile. “Open.”_

 

_He drops his jaw and she examines his teeth, pressing on his tongue. She turns his head from side to side, never taking her eyes from his, checking for illness and infirmity he doesn’t have. The Traders would not dare send sub-standard merchandise to the palace. “Close.” He lets his jaw shut and she smiles slightly before releasing his chin so his head drops. He stares at the floor and forces his worry down, making sure he doesn’t hope. “I like this one,” soft woman announces, and his breath comes a little easier._

 

_“He has quite a few scars. It would seem he has often been punished.” The Southerner’s voice is throwaway and Louis gut clenches at how accurate her words are._

 

_“Then he has probably learned his lesson and already been broken. Perhaps we should be concerned with his strength? He’s not very big.” The sorceress questions, and the question makes him worry. Louis is stronger than he looks, but physical labor was never his best skill after a childhood of never needing to do it._

 

_“The Traders said he was.” He is more ingratiated to the soft-spoken woman by the minute. There is a moment of silence._

 

_“If nothing else, the Prince will like him.” Louis dares to hope a little uncertain hope at the sorceress’ words. Surely they don’t mean what he thinks they mean, he’s not trained for that. If they do...well, there are worse things, he suppose. How kinky can the Prince of the Kingdom be?_

 

_“I say yes.”_

 

_“I second that.” Louis lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. There’s a long pause, then a sigh._

 

_“We’ll take him, but it’s on you two if he fails.” Louis isn’t one for faith, but thank god in heaven. He fights to keep himself from smiling. He’s safe, for now, from the darkness and death of the squalor the Traders keep their cargo in._

 

_“Rise, boy.” The voice rings out. Louis quickly gets to his feet, keeping his eyes down and head slightly bent. Another long finger touches him under his chin, and bangles click against his throat, the metal cold against his skin. He feels runes, so this must be the sorceress. She raises his head so he has to look at her._

 

_She is beautiful, in a wild and dangerous way, looking more like a Fey woman than a human sorceress. Her skin is ghostly pale, making the gold runes she bears stand out sharply as they frame her eyes and cascade down her neck and chest until they disappear into her robe, one line slicing across her throat like a choker just under her chin. She has slanted elven cheekbones and cat-like eyes, eyes that bear the tell-tale mark of a sorceress. One is blue, and one is green, and they are piercing and electric under black hair that swirls around her, falling to her waist and ending in blue, a silver streak slicing the left of her forehead. She has pointed ears sticking out, pierced with three silver hoops in gold, silver, and a mix of the two; when she smiles Louis sees a flash of pointed, animal-like canines. “What is your name?” He shivers at the energy crackling around her, dangerous and exciting like a livewire._

 

_“Louis, milady.” How strange it still feels to call someone that._

 

_“We have taken a chance on you, Louis. Do not make us regret it.” She pats his cheek as if comforting him, but the threat in her voice is clear and his skin zings where her fingers brushed it. He says nothing, sending a message of compliance with his eyes, and she lets his head drop. Louis watches from the corner of his eye as the other two go through, and pass, their inspections. The Southerner takes a liking to the redhead._

 

_“You have a name?”_

 

_“Ed, milady.”_

 

_“You have a pleasing voice, Ed. Do you sing? Your fingers are callused like a musician’s.”_

 

_“I do sing, milady.”_

 

_“Good, we need a new musician. You will join their ranks.” The Southerner snaps her fingers and two servants emerge from seemingly thin air. “Get him clothes and take him to Master Simmons.” The servants’ clothing rustles, indicating a bow, and they take Ed away. The women return to Blondie. He’s begun to shake, though with cold, strain or fear, Louis doesn’t know._

 

_“Now, what to do with you.” The sorceress begins to walk in a slow circle. “I see no scars, meaning you are new or your past masters did not do their job in breaking you.” Louis is pretty sure the boy is new, given how much he cried the first night. It’s surprising they’d throw him into the wolf’s den of court so soon._

 

_“We see arrogance and vanity in you, and a wildness. You are not submissive.” The Southerner’s voice is flat, as if she’s reading from a text book. “Breaking such habits is time consuming and expensive.” The shaking becomes more noticable, so it must be fear._

 

_“Some of the nobles of the court might be interested in doing so, you’re pretty enough.” The kind one is suddenly not so kind and Louis is confused, guessing at exactly what she means. “Louis.” He starts at the sound of his name. “Look over here.” Louis lifts his head, flicking his too-long fringe out of his eyes, and looks over. The soft-spoken woman points at Blondie, still kneeling with his legs spread. “What is he like?”_

 

_Louis mind starts to race as he tries to think of something. There had been hundreds of them down in that hole, and a two-day breakneck ride isn’t really enough to get to know someone, especially someone who’s just been taken. He remembers seeing things that could be arrogance and vanity, but are possibly just shyness and shame and fear. He was calm enough, cheering by lunch the first day and smiling carefully at the boys. Only Louis had smiled back, and he’d thus chattered to him quietly, talking of home. Blondie turns his head to Louis, opens his mouth. “Please-” he begins to beg, a rookie mistake, and Louis winces. Sure enough, a hand cracks across the pale face. The skin turns pink and the boy’s hands twitch, but other than that he doesn’t move._

 

_“Did we give you permission to speak?” The sorceress’ voice is a whipcrack in the silence. The reply is soft._

 

_“No, milady.”_

 

_“What? We can’t hear you.”_

 

_“No, milady,” the blonde repeats. His voice is stronger, an Island accent coming through, and his body tenses as if expecting to be hit again._

 

_“Then you will be silent. Louis, tell us.” Louis really doesn’t know the kid, but he wants to save him, for some reason. His own hide is on the line as well, he senses._

 

_“He is goodnatured and calm,” Louis begins slowly. “He was shy at first, and the arrogance and vanity do not run deep. He tried to cheer us on the journey and even the Traders did not steal his smile.” That is, he realizes too late, not a good thing, but the women do not react. “He is strong and fairly pliable and outgoing.” Louis’ voice is speeding up and he has no idea if the last one is true. The women look at each other._

 

_“What are his flaws?” The kind voice has turned businesslike. Louis wants to lie, but his own ass is on the line, so sorry, Blondie._

 

_“He talks often, perhaps too much, and he is exuberant. He is vain and arrogant and perhaps not serious enough.” The women nod and then draw into a tight circle, whispering furiously in the Palace Language. Louis speaks a little, but not nearly enough. Finally, the group breaks apart, the Southerner with storm clouds crossing her face. She lifts Blondie’s chin, and Louis can finally get a good look at her._

 

_She is tall, intimidatingly so, and wears her gown well over ample curves. She is pretty, with a pleasing face dramaticized by makeup, but it is a cruel pretty, used like a weapon. Her mouth would be kissable were it not pressed thin in anger, and her hazel eyes are cold and haughty. Red-blonde hair has been braided and pulled into a sharp bun, lengthening and sharpening her features, giving her an authoritative, no-nonsense air. She looks like this is all beneath her, and the locket and ring she wears reveal that it is. “We have decided to give you a chance,” she decrees like a queen. Louis notes that her skin is pale for a Southerner, but the accent is like a sorcerer’s eyes, a dead give-away of their true nature. “You, however, must be broken. You will be watched and missteps punished. We will be firm but fair, and mercy will not be commonplace.” Blue eyes give away nothing but a hint of fear._

 

_“Rise.” The three say it together and Blondie gets to shaky feet, keeping his eyes anchored to the patterns in the marble floor. The mark on his cheek is already swelling, and an angry red that will leave an impressive bruise. It’s bleeding slightly from the stones on the sorceress’ ring. “Look at us.” Louis turns to face them._

 

_“I am the Lady Eilonwy, sorceress-in-training,” the sorceress announces as she steps forward. “These are Ladies Briar-” she points out the Southerner- “and Elenya.” The kind one smiles. “We welcome you to the personal staff of the Royal Family.” Louis breath catches. The personal staff is the highest position captives like them can recieve, one he’d assumed you had to be noble to take...well. This changes everything, and suddenly the harsh treatment makes sense. The Royal Family can have nothing but the best, and they are to set an example. The Lady Elenya steps forward._

 

_“Should you do well, you shall be rewarded, perhaps even freed. It is not unknown to recieve a title.” Freed....it sounds like heaven. Louis has dealt with hunger, beatings, sleeping in the cold and the darkness of the hold for so long that he hardly dares to hope. A title would be nice too, but free....ever since he was taken, it’s all he wanted. Perhaps he could even return home and- no, don’t get too far._

 

_“However, titles do not come easily. You will be in the public eye and you must set a standard for behavior. At the same time we praise success we harshly punish failure. Remember that the Royals are not like a mere nobleman; they can kill you or have you killed with a wave of their hand.” A little of the haughtiness and cruelty has lef tthe Southerner’s voice. She could be quite pretty, without any of it._

 

_“Your fellow servants can be your greatest allies or your worst enemies,” the Lady Eilonwy warns them. “Make friends and you will never be alone; make enemies and you will find that the walls have eyes and the doors ears.” It is like that in every fine house._

 

_“For all we have said and done today, you may quickly find us your equals. I was as you are, once, and looks at me,” Lady Elenya tells them. “The family is kind. You need not fear overmuch.” If they’re so kind, why do they need this warning?_

 

_“We have clothes for you, but your own are on your beds. On your days off you may dress and act as you please, so long as you do not disgrace your employer, but when working you wear our livery.” That’s a change he hadn’t expected._

 

_“Are you educated?” A voice answers from beside him, quiet and pleasant with a Middle Countries accent, and Louis jumps. The other boy, he’d forgotten he was there. The boy has shaggy brown hair, a powerful body, and a kind face. Louis doesn’t remember him talking the entire way here._

 

_“I am, yes.”_

 

_“As am I.” He’s damn proud of it too, it’s come in handy before._

 

_“Myself as well.” Louis looks at Blondie, a bit surprised, for it’s less common in the wilder North. The women nod._

 

_“Much of the library is open to you,” Lady Briar (he must stop calling her the Southerner) says. “We encourage you to visit it.” Louis wasn’t really one for books, but this kind of freedom is extremly rare. There is a knock on the door, and a boy of about eight comes in laden with garments. With difficulty, he makes the court bow, lays the clothes down in front of each of the new arrivals, and bows again before leaving. This must be the livery._

 

_They are fine and soft, not silk or satin but good cotton, and Louis slips gratefully into the shirt and pants. They’re a bit big, but that’s life. He hears the boys beside him doing the same, and notes that while Blondie pulls it off silent needs something a bit more...revealing. The women wait until they are dressed to speak again. “We will place you tomorrow. Until then, you may explore the parts of the castle you are permitted to see. They are carpeted in blue. The Royal family’s private areas are green, and state areas in red. Are we understood?” The boys nod._

 

_“You may go.” Lady Eilonwy dismisses them, and they bow before heading to the door with Ladies Elenya and Briar close behind. “Not you, blonde one.” Blondie stops and turns, face blanching. The fierce look is goen from the sorceress’ face, but she’s still intimidating with that energy around her. The last thing Louis seese before the door swings closed is the Lady coming closer._

 

The boy is clearly terrified of her, and even though it’s warranted- or perhaps because it is- she feels her stomach twist. It’s always wise to be wary of magic users, lest they release their powers on you, and just minutes ago she’d had this boy’s life in her hands. She walks slowly towards him, hands up, treating him like she would a cornered or wounded animal. Up close, she can see how young he is; the boy cannot be more than twenty, a year younger than her at least. He is quite pretty, but the arrogance and vanity are there and they’re not good traits to have, especially here in this court that likes to pretend it’s not sinful and twisted. The courtiers will use this one, and for now he is theirs, body and soul- arrogance could well kill him. 

 

The mark she left on his cheek is already purpling, a slight smear of blood scarlet and drying from where her ring cut him. She feels a slash of guilt, but if he were to fuck up in front of Percy...she forces herself not to shiver at what the stuck-up, sadistic butler would do to this boy, trying to keep her face from darkening at the thought of the man. He was openly anti-magic and sexist, and more than once she’d had to bite her tongue to his insults rather than hex him or turn him into a pig, truly his spirit animal. Slowly, she raises her hand to the blonde’s face, touching the bruise, and he hisses a little, flinching. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. His eyes say he doesn’t believe her. “We do not wish to act the way we do with the new ones- well, other than Percy- but you have to know what to expect. Fuck ups aren’t tolerated.” He’s clearly surprised to see such a word come out of her mouth. She smiles. “I wasn’t always a Lady, you know.” As if in spite of himself, the boy’s eyebrow rises and his lips quirk up. 

 

“No?” Immediately he blanches and tenses, smile gone, like he expects to be hit for speaking out of turn.

 

“You can speak to me, you know.” The boy’s face goes calm, blank, and distant. 

 

“The last time I tried to speak out of turn, you slapped me. Forgive me if I’m not inclined to believe you.” 

 

“I am sorry for that. To answer your question, I was quite low born. Had I not recieved the Gift, I would have married a merchant like my father, who never did all that well with his business. Now, I am one of the highest Ladies in the land.” 

 

“What is The Gift?” He sounds curious, not mocking. She smiles thinly.

 

“My magic, though it’s a curse more than a gift.”

 

“Why do you say that?” The voice is a little unsure but curiosity shines through. She looks him in the eye, knowing her face has gone sad and a shadow has flashed across it. 

 

“My father hated me from the day I was born because he hadn’t known my mother was not mortal. He beat her every day and when he killed her I had no one to protect me and my powers came in, so he tried to drown me at the age of three. I escaped, and later on I made sure he paid, greatly, for both that and my mother’s death.” Her voice has gone flat, frightening, and dangerous, and she must be scaring this blonde boy, but she cannot think of the man who sired her without anger and pain. She forces herself to be calm before she releases anything. “The palace found me a few years later and I have served them ever since. Gawain- the court’s sorcerer- is my father more than my sire ever was.” The boy’s eyes have gone soft and sympathetic. 

 

“I’m sorry that happened.” She waves her hand.

 

“It was long ago. Tell me, what is your name? I won’t hurt you.” He looks unsure, but he gives her an answer. 

 

“I am Niall.” She smiles a true smile. 

 

“It is a pleasure. Now, the others will be looking for us.” She puts her hand on his cheek again and closes he eyes. The skin heats as she chants a spell, but it’s not unpleasant, and under her palm the swelling goes down, cut healing, and the skin returns to its normal porcelain shade. The pain melts away, replaced with a pleasant warmth- Niall touches his cheek as she opens her eyes and removes the hand. 

 

“What- it- it’s gone!” He sounds amazed, and she wonders if he’s ever seen magic before. She doesn’t know how the court, people who live with it every day, haven’t realized it can heal. 

 

“Yes, of course it’s gone. I healed it. Please don’t tell anyone I did that, we’re not supposed to used healing magicks.” Her voice is pleading a little even though she knows he will have to tell the other boys **something**.

 

“Why?” he’s intrigued. 

 

“Not only would we put poor Doctor Linus out of work, we’d be swamped with requests. Healing arts are inexact anyways, and neither I nor Gawain are particularly inclined to it.” She can’t tell him any more without breaking the Laws of Secrecy, but the boy thankfully doesn’t ask for an explanation. “Go, find your friends. I must return to mine.” She smiles at him, another true smile, and he smiles back. It’s an open, honest, true smile, if a little certain, and she finds herself thankful the Trader’s notoriously harsh tactics didn’t beat it out of him. 

 

She follows him out, locking the door behind her. 

 


End file.
